


Masterpiece

by Joey (slfairpen)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:51:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slfairpen/pseuds/Joey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was doing so well: a model student with straight A's, nearly perfect attendance, exemplary community service, musically inclined beyond belief. He had so much going for him. He was even going to graduate early, that is, until he "finally lost it" as some people said. He was given no chances, only a one sided trial and an unfair sentence. After three years in prison and most of it spent in solitary confinement, Marco Bodt is finally released from his hell and is allowed to return to his life as a "normal" person. Granted, life can only be so normal after three years in prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy with the Pretty Pictures

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story on here, so I hope you all enjoy. I also have no idea how Ao3 formatting works, so I'll be figuring it out as I go.
> 
> I've been endlessly listening to the playlist I made while writing this:  
> http://8tracks.com/slfairpen/masterpiece
> 
> Also, I'm aware that Marco isn't usually pinned as the one who does the "bad" things, but I could only imagine Marco for this.

"And you're _sure_ that this kid only had three years?" The man said. He rubbed his arm self consciously, trying to shove away the chill that overcame him as they entered the isolation unit.

"Positive. They weren't allowed to give him more than that, even considerin' the situation."

"That can't be possible though," He jumped as one of the inmates banged a fist on the door, taunting the man who was dressed too cleanly for a prison with a jeering smile. "Have you looked at his record?"

"You act like I haven't basically been his chaperone for the past three years. He's been in before this, but on juvenile grounds. This is the first time he's been with adults, and the kid won't let any of the others near him." He stopped walking for a moment before rounding a corner. "Who did you say you were again?"

"A recruiter, well, interviewer for the most part, but this is a special circumstance, hence the adopted title. Erwin Smith." Erwin feigned a smile in hopes to hurry along the visit. He wasn't allowed to be present for the release, and quite frankly he was happy about it.

"What kind of recruiter comes to the isolation unit of a prison?" The man asks.

"One who recognizes potential, I suppose, Mr.-"

"Shadis. Keith Shadis." He said as he walked down a new hall.

The green doors and pasty cream walls were enough to raise the hairs on anyones arms, and Erwin was no exception. Their footsteps were the only sound that echoed the hallway until the doors began to shake and people started yelling. Just about every cell was filled with shrieks and banging except for one about halfway down the all. The door was clean aside from some water stains near the bottom where the paint was beginning to chip away (from when the inmates would flood the hall, Shadis commented), and the small window a bit below eye level for Erwin was nearly spotless. Inside the room was a kid, just having turned 18 a week ago, sitting on the bed pressed up against the left wall, tapping his fingers fervently against his legs. His hair hung over his eyes as his fingers ran along his legs.

Upon closer inspection of the cell held behind the green door, Erwin noticed that on the walls hung papers, some covered in complicated formulas and some covered in scrawled staves and notes many times erased. On the small table underneath a window that led outside, thick books were stacked upon each other and even more papers covered the table, blank and covered in scrawled handwriting.

"What's he doing in here?" Erwin asked.

"What do you mean? Why is he in solitary confinement or why is he not in a juvenile prison?"

"Both."

"Well, he's not in a juvenile prison because he was charged as an adult. He's in solitary confinement because there were, to put it lightly, _incidents_." Shadis replied. Erwin raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms in response.

"He seems to be the only one not completely riled up by someone coming down here," Erwin commented. The boy remained with his head down for a moment and then shot up from his bed, furiously scrawling something on one of the papers on the table.

"Yeah. The kid used to refuse to even come out durin' their hour of exercise time a day, but now he just sits out there with one of those books and a stack of papers, takin' notes or somethin'." At that, the boy stood laxidazily from his hunched position over the table and turned around to meet Erwin and Shadis standing and staring in at him. He had a kind of blank look on his face for a moment before he wandered over to the door and smiled through the spotless window.

"Hello, Mr. Shadis. Lovely day today isn't it?" The boy said. Erwin was caught off guard. The boy showed no signs of hostility or displeasure, despite having spent nearly three entire years of his life in the isolation unit. He seemed sincere in his words.

"I wouldn't expect you to know, you haven't been outside today," Shadis quickly replied.

The boy laughed. "You forget that I have a window." He raised his eyebrows and smiled, turning around and taking a few steps to the table and then rejoining Erwin and Shadis at the window. He held up a paper to the window and smiled. "I learned this section today. I think I'll know it all soon, but I might have forgotten some pages." He placed he paper back on the table and went back to his bed, continuing to tap his fingers on his legs.

Erwin glanced sideways at Shadis, his eyebrows knit together with worry. "Is this how he... copes?"

Shadis shrugged. "We don't know if he's officially lost it, if he's just not all there anymore or what. He's had some more serious issues, regrettably, but he would've been worse if he had stayed in general public, so we don't really know what's goin' on in his head. Sometimes he'll draw on his arms to cover up what he doesn't want to see." The boy perked up at the mention of his arms. He stood and walked near the window, holding up his arms, which were wrapped in white gauze like material. He laughed to himself and his face melted into a toothy grin.

"You're talking about the pretty pictures on my arms?" He frowned and tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy. "It's a shame, Mrs. Zoe had to wash them off because she didn't want them to cause an infection." The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Oh well." He went back to the table and continued to scrawl down notes on the seemingly millions of papers. Erwin looked worriedly at Shadis, suddenly going back on his thoughts of allowing the boy to regain normal society so quickly. Despite his outwardly unaffected appearance, from his statement about the "pretty pictures" on his arms, Erwin could tell that he wouldn't escape from the isolation unit unscathed.

Shadis turned to Erwin. "There have been times where we've had to drag him out of his cell to get him to go to see Mrs. Zoe, the facility's nurse. Some of the men on staff think he's fakin' any kind of mental illness, and I seem to be the only one who thinks he isn't." Shadis took Erwin by his elbow and turned him around. "The boy's goin' to have problems gettin' back into the real world. He's unstable, having spent his developin' years alone in a space not much bigger than a bathroom. He goes between much too happy and sittin' in the corner rockin' back and forth in tears mutterin' about some nonsense. Are you sure you're up for this?" Shadis said under his breath so the boy wouldn't hear him.

"This kid isn't your average prison bum. He's been in and out of the mental health unit weeks, months at a time. He learned pretty quick that resistance would just get him worse treatment. He used to be violent, and though it seemed to disappear, the little bits of time he's spent in general public after his initial isolation, it's been the other inmates that have gotten hurt. It's not like he's as innocent as he seems. I'm surprised they're even allowin' him to go."

Erwin looked over his shoulder at the boy, seemingly small and innocent, yet still in danger and a dangerous individual himself. "Mr. Shadis, listen to me for a moment. This boy- _this child_ -is a genius. While you see the risks, I can only help but see the benefits. He got a 32 on his ACT when he was 13. He composed his first piece of music at 12. He was taking high school classes by sixth grade. He as so much going on inside his head that he can't possibly benefit in this shit hole. Those books on his table? Informational books about physics and microbiology." Erwin's voice grew more enraged by the second. He was soon yelling, clearly disturbing the boy, but he didn't stop yelling.

"The fact that this boy could be stuck here for his life is an outrage. He could seriously benefit society with the brain inside that head. The fact that this boy got convicted for killing his abuser? _Bullshit_ is what it is. He is worth too much to this world to see him drive himself crazy and rot here." Shadis remained quiet, looking over his shoulder at the boy who was now huddled in the corner of his bed muttering things under his breath. Erwin ran a shaking hand through his hair and let out an exasperated breath. "Does _that_ answer your damn question?"

 

* * *

 

It had taken the boy a while to comprehend the fact that he was going to be leaving what had been his personal hell. The only thing he'd really seen in three years outside the pasty white walls of his cell had been the barren landscape beyond the barbed wire enclosure of is exercise area. When Shadis and Erwin left, he jumped up from his place on his bed and started hollering, crying with joy that he was getting a chance to do what he had always dreamed. He gathered all his papers up and stacked them neatly in order: physics, english, forensics, music theory, compositions. He grabbed the papers down off the wall and organized them as neatly as possible and laid them on top of the already overly large pile. He had made a small calendar the day he entered, and he had every important date marked on it, like his birthday, his closest friends' birthdays, and even the day that students were getting out of school and when graduation was. Adding it to the pile, he grabbed the small bag he was given at the beginning of his stay and tried to shove them all in without damaging any of the papers. He laid down on his bed once the papers were all packed away as best as possible and stared up at the ceiling. He ran his fingers along his forearms which were wrapped in bandages. _The first thing I'm doing once I get the money is getting tattoos over them,_  he thought to himself. _That way I don't have to look at_ them _all the time._

He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He was more than excited to get back to normal life and go to college, but a part of him worried what he would be left with, what with all his relatives being dead or unreachable. Would he be thrown on the streets without any way of getting healthily back into society? Would he be dropped with another set of horrible parents? His mind spiraled downhill and he had to bang his head against the wall to keep the thoughts from consuming him. He winced a bit at the impact, feeling his forehead for any cut. He pulled his hand away from his forehead to find it bloody. There was a small amount of blood dripping from his forehead over his right eye, and it soon enough turned into a steady stream, so he took his bed sheet and wrapped it around his head to try and slow down the bleeding. He still, however, couldn't keep a smile off his face. His heart was racing with anticipation to finally see the outdoors. 

A group of the typical guards came down and removed him from the cell. Pixis and Dreyse escorted him through the facility after cuffing him up like it were any other transfer situation. Men from inside their isolation cells banged on the doors and yelled profanities at the boy, but he only smiled and carried out a playful conversation with Pixis and Dreyse. 

"So, how is your day going, Mrs. Dreyse? I can imagine it's going well considering your favorite little boy is getting to go home, well, wherever home is." The boy laughed a bit to himself and Dreyse smiled in response. 

"Yes, I am quite excited to hear that you're being released. I'm sure you'll do great things. Stay in touch, alright?" She beamed. She had been one of the few people who had been able to coax him out of his cell whenever he had needed medical attention, mainly because of her lilting voice and sweet smile. It had always made the boy feel warm on the inside. 

"Don't worry, I will." He turned his gaze to Pixis. "And how are you this fine day, sir?"

"Wonderful, thank you for asking. No cells have been flooded yet. Granted, it's only noon, but it's a good start to the day. I can tell your excited to be getting released." He smiled. "And you've kept busy while in there, haven't you?" 

The boy grinned. "Oh, of course, sir. I learned so many new pieces, it was really fun. I can't wait to play them on a real piano one day. Do you think I could be a professional performer?" Pixis shot a glance at Dreyse who gave him just as panicked of a look back. Pixis had been one of the first to propose that the boy was faking any sort of sickness, and he could only keep thinking it. He didn't believe the boy was sick, but like all of the other inmates in the isolation unit, he did believe he had a few screws loose.

"Of course, my boy, if you believe you can and set your mind to it, you can do anything." 

"You believe it, right?" The boy asked, looking hopefully at Pixis.

Pixies feigned a smile and tried his best to sound convinced. "Of course I do." 

The boy raised his shoulders up and smiled widely. "Thank you, Mr. Pixis." He was beginning to recognize some of his surroundings as the entrance of the prison, and thank god they were almost there. He couldn't quite bear to wait any longer. He was practically bouncing up and down instead of walking. The two escorts turned a corner and were met by a lady smiling at a desk and two men waiting on the other side of a gate. 

"Well kid, this is where our time together ends," Pixis said, much to his pleasure. The boy enthusiastically put out his hands so they would be uncuffed and Pixis obliged as Dreyse undid the cuffs around the boy's ankles. The cuffs, for what the boy hoped was the last time, were taken from his wrists and ankles. He took the bag with his papers from Pixis and smiled at him, waving politely. He rubbed his reddened wrists earnestly as he approached the lady at the desk with his bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hello, Miss. How are you?" The boy asked sweetly. The woman typed something into her computer and the printer behind her began to spit out papers. She looked up at the young boy in front of her and smiled kindly at him. 

"I'm alright, how are you?"

"I'm incredible!" He exclaimed. He began to bound around the space, rambling joyfully about how he was leaving and going on to live his life normally for a while until Dreyse and Pixis grabbed him by his arms and calmed him down. The boy almost instantaneously began to mumble to himself, keeping his head to the ground, refusing to look up. Pixies had to grab him by his hair and hold up his head for the woman at the desk to ask him questions so she knew he was responding to her. 

"So," she started after her final interrogative question. "Here are your papers. You are no longer Marco Bodt, but you are Nikolai Osbourne, born on November 19, from Oregon." The boy's eyes lit up. He could feel tears beginning to burn the backs of his eyes. 

"What... what do you mean, I'm no longer Marco?" He asked quietly.

"Well, you can't be going out into the real world with your real name. People will never interact with you." Marco turned his gaze back to the floor. "Don't you want to live a normal life?" He nodded solemnly. "Good, now-" She was cut off by the men on the other side of the gate talking to her in hushed tones. Marco heard bits and pieces. "Can't cope..." and "needs a sense of self..." and he straightened up a bit and managed to sweet talk Pixis and Dreyse into letting him go. 

"Well, Mr. Bodt... It seems I was mistaken." The lady behind the desk put the papers initially for Marco through a shredder. He smiled a bit and looked over at the men waiting for him on the other side. "Your cell is clean and you have all your belongings?" Marco nodded. "You... You may go."


	2. Classical

* * *

The only things Marco left the prison with were his notes and his music. No clothes, no wallet, no ID, no nothing. It was almost like he didn't exist for the past three years. The only things he had to his name were the alarmingly brutal headlines and the scolding articles written about him back in 2011. Other than that, he practically didn't exist. He hadn't really had any friends but one, and Marco was almost entirely sure that his singular friend wouldn't have waited up for him to be let out of prison. He could only sit impatiently in the backseat of the nice car the two men had as they whispered to each other back and forth in harsh tones.

"Hey, where are we going?" Marco asked quietly. Neither of the two men stopped talking. He waited for a moment before asking again. The black haired man in the passenger seat turned around and game Marco a once over.

"Judging by the looks of you, home first, and then we'll go and get you some clothes that fit right." He said, somewhat disgusted by the unclean state of Marco.

"Where is home?" Marco asked. The man just turned back around. "Who are you?" The whispering ceased and the car got eerily silent. Not even the radio was on the pierce through the quiet. The blonde man driving spoke up as the black haired man slouched further into his seat.

"We're professors. I'm Mr. Erwin Smith and he is Mr. Levi Ackerman. I work at the Curtis Institute of Music and he works at the University of the Sciences." His voice was soft and caring, but Marco felt his skin crawling at his words. He leaned back away from his seatbelt for a moment before unbuckling it and throwing himself towards the radio dial. Erwin veered into the lane to the left of them and Levi let out a string of curses as Marco began to fiddle with the radio stations.

"What in the fucking hell are you doing?" Levi scolded, bracing himself against the door of the car. "What are you, a fucking idiot?"

Marco, who was oblivious to what he was doing wrong, continued to flip through stations. "I'm just tryin' to break the silence, ya know?" Levi swatted his hand away from the dial and shoved him back into the backseat, landing Marco with a thump.

Marco could feel his chest tightening a bit in part from where Levi had shoved him and also from what he had learned was a panic attack. Regardless of Erwin and Levi both yelling at him to put on a seatbelt, no matter which one it was, Marco laid down across the backseat and bunched his legs up against the door. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes hard, trying to prevent tears from spilling over. It has been a while since he had had a panic attack, and usually minuscule things like a firm scolding didn't set him off, but something about everything was different to Marco. His breathing, which had turned into gasping, hitched every now and again and Levi was soon turned around in his seat, nearly all the way in the backseat trying to comfort Marco. He was rubbing his hand lightly on his arm and Marco eventually took his right hand away from his face and laid it on the center console for Levi to hold. Levi hesitated but eventually obliged.

"Can... Can-can you tu-turn on the c-c-classi-classical sta-station?" Marco said between gasps.

"Yes, Marco, we can turn the radio to the classical station." Levi replied as he turned the dial to get to station 90.1. "Next time could you just ask instead of throwing yourself into he front seat?" Marco nodded slightly and began to mumble to himself.

"'m sorry..." Marco said eventually as he lowered his hand from his face. He pulled his right hand out of Levi's grasp as he sat up and clicked one of the seat belts into place across his chest. He leaned his head against the door, looking out the window at the rapidly passing trees that began to slow down as Erwin pulled off the highway.

"It's alright, Marco." Levi turned back around in his seat. "We understand. You haven't been in a situation like this is three years. It's hard to adjust. That's what we're here for. We're here to help you get used to life outside of a prison." Marco's eyes scanned the buildings and restaurants on the side of the road.

"Could we get something to eat?" He asked, sitting up in his seat.

"Like what?" The car came to a gentle stop at a stoplight.

"I dunno... Whatever's around here I guess."

Levi pointed down the road. "There's a McDonald's up the road from here. You okay with that?" He asked Marco. Marco mumbled yes and sat up straight in his seat. "Alright. You can get whatever you want and then we'll head home to get you cleaned up."

The food tasted better than any of the slop he was fed during his time in isolation and the shower was so pleasant, Levi had to warn him that if he didn't get out soon the water would get cold. Marco hadn't felt so refreshed in three years. His hair was washed, finally, and he didn't feel grimy. While he was in the shower, he unraveled the bandages that were around his arms and carefully washed the dried blood and cuts that covered both his arms. The scorching hot water had stung a bit at first, but after a while he became accustomed to it.

Looking in the fogged up mirror that he had wiped down, Marco could tell he had paled severely while he was in prison. His normally dark tan skin was a sickly color, much too pale for him. Dark circles clung underneath his eyes and despite having exercised in slight during his time, he looked scrawny. He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair that hung in his eyes to untangle it.

With a towel wrapped tightly around his waist, Marco wandered out of the steaming bathroom to find Levi and Erwin standing in the kitchen, obviously discussing something of relative importance.

"Do you guys have any clothes I can borrow?" Marco asked. Levi turned to see him tracking water throughout the house.

"What in the-" Erwin elbowed him. "Go back into the bathroom so you don't track water all throughout the house and Erwin will bring you some clothes you can use for the moment." Marco turned around and padded off into the bathroom again, waiting for Erwin to bring him clothes. A knock came on the door and Marco answered by opening the door. Erwin stood in the doorway, holding a neatly folded pile of clothes. He handed the clothes to Marco.

"These should fit you better than Levi's clothes would. You're closer to my height anyways." Erwin closed the door.

 

* * *

 

"Does this look like it fits?" Marco asked, turning around to look at the red and black flannel he was trying on in the mirror.

Erwin smiled. "It looks great, Marco." Marco beamed, going back into the dressing room and stripping the flannel off himself. He pulled on a pair of dark blue jeans that hugged his legs in just the right places.

"The jeans fit!" He called through the door to Erwin and Levi. "I think that's the last thing I needed to try on." Marco put the clothes that Erwin had lent him back on and grabbed as many of the things in the dressing room as he could. There were still a few tshirts that hadn't fit that lay on top of the little chair in the corner. "What should I do with the ones that didn't fit?" He asked as he pushed open the door to rejoin Levi and Erwin.

"I'll get them," Levi said, shoving past Marco to get into the dressing room. "What all did you land on?"

"There are a few pairs of jeans, a couple sweaters, some tshirts and two flannels that I really like. They're super soft." Marco set all the clothes in the red Target cart and began to push it towards a check out line. One of the wheels squeaked, which was like someone constantly tapping his head to Marco, and he was doing his best to ignore it. Levi caught up to Erwin and Marco in a hurry.

"What's wrong?" Erwin asked Levi, turning away from Marco. He urged Marco into one of the check out lines and told him to start checking things out.

"There are some people back near the dressing rooms who recognized the kid. Do you want to take him out to the car?"

"Sure, I guess." Erwin walked over to Marco and grabbed his elbow. Marco looked at Erwin questioningly as he put the pair of jeans in his hands on the scanner.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you to the car," Erwin began to pull Marco after him, but Marco had his feet planted firmly in the ground.

"Why are we going to the car? There's nothing wrong. We haven't even paid for the clothes yet." Marco insisted. He continued to stubbornly pile clothes onto the scanner.

"Listen, we need to go to the car, Marco. Just trust me. Levi will finish paying." Erwin's grip on Marco's arm tightened as he pulled him away from the register. Marco, who had had three too many years of being dragged around began to fight back, even if that was just pulling in the opposite direction and saying stern words.

"No! Mr. Smith, I'm not going to the car! And even if I was, you don't have to drag me there, I'm not a child!" Marco half yelled. Erwin just yanked him harder, causing Marco to lose his footing and fumble along after him.

"If you aren't a child then, Marco, why don't you stop acting like one?" As they exited the Target and began walking towards the small black car in one of the farthest spots back in the parking lot, Erwin began to scold Marco.

"I cannot believe you would do something like that, make a scene that big when it's completely unnecessary. I know that you haven't been in a situation like this in years, but I would imagine you would remember some proper etiquette." Erwin dropped Marco's arm as they neared the car. "Maybe I over estimated you."

"What do you mean, making a scene? You tried to take me outside when I did nothing wrong! I was just-"

Erwin spun around to face Marco. "No, Marco. You don't understand. I wouldn't expect you to, but there is a level of maturity I would expect from you, considering your intellectual capacity, whether you were in solitary confinement for three years or not." Erwin grabbed the door of the car to let Marco in. Marco grudgingly got into the car, arms crossed firmly over his chest. Erwin was slamming the door closed just as Levi was jogging up to the car.

Levi popped open the trunk. "How did it go?" He asked.

Erwin, rubbing his temples, replied. "He was upset, to say the least." He looked at Levi and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe the best thing we can do at this point is get him evaluated." He got in the car and closed the door.

"Maybe."


	3. It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, there is rape mention in the beginning with Marco, but it's not too long, just wanted to let everyone know.

_"You did this to yourself, kid." Brian trailed his hands down Marco's stomach and all of Marco's muscles tightened. Reeling back, he swung his fist at Brian in an attempt to get away. While Brian stumbled backwards, the other inmate who had been awake immediately leapt up and shoved Marco to the ground, landing few punches on him even though Marco flailed and thrashed. He was crying and screaming for someone to help, but the other inmates were deep in sleep and none of the guards seemed to care._

_"It's the rule, you gotta pay up if someone gives you something." The man said, standing and kicking Marco in the side numerous times, leaving him a mess of tears and mumbling on the floor. "Don't act like you didn't ask for it." Brian grabbed Marco by his hair and pulled him over to his bed, eliciting a blood curling scream. "Now get undressed."_

_"No..." He sobbed._

_"What was that?"_

_"I said no." Marco said quietly. Brian smacked him across the face and shoved Marco down onto the bed. With harsh hands, Brian began to work the pants from Marco's legs as he kicked and screamed at the top of his lungs. Things like 'Get away from me!' and 'Someone, please help!' slowly became inaudible and turned into sobs as Marco turned his head away from Brian, trying his hardest not to look at him. He could feel something against him, and something pushed into him and he screamed as loud as he ever did. His throat was already raw from yelling for help, and his screaming only turned into rasping as time went on._

_"Look at me when I fuck you," Brian said, taking one hand off of Marco's hips to turn his face towards him. "Look at me!" When Marco struggled, Brian's hand moved down to his throat, his hand wrapping firmly around it, and Marco's gaze grudgingly met Brian's. Tears were streaming down his face as he found it getting harder to breathe. Brian's hand had been tightening around his throat as he began to get faster at what he was doing. Black dots clouded Marco's vision and his eyelids began to droop closed._

_Brian slapped him. "I said look at me when I'm fucking you!" Marco yelled and began to whine, his entire body aching and shaking. He squeezed his eyes shut so tight that colors burst behind his eyelids. Brian seemed to peel himself away from Marco, only to pull Marco off of the bed._

_"Kneel." Marco, not wanting to be hurt anymore than he already did, knelt down on his knees with shaking legs. His gaze shot to the ground, desperately wishing that Brian would stop. "Lift your head, you little piece of shit." Marco lifted his head up straight but made sure his eyes were closed. Brian grabbed a handful of Marco's dark brown hair. "Open your eyes, you cock sucker, and take it in your mouth." Brian ordered. Marco pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. "Do it, or I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk!" Marco ran out of tears, and his eyes were just glazed over by the time Brian was thrusting violently into his mouth. Marco gagged the farther back into his throat Brian got and he would pull on Marco's hair every time he did. For a brief moment, Marco came to, and pushed his hands against Brian's legs, trying to separate their bodies, but Brian only held onto the back of Marco's head firmly, assuring he would go nowhere._

_When Brian was finished, he just threw Marco onto the ground with a thud and Marco remained there, unable to bring himself to move. His entirety ached and he only had the energy to curl into a ball and cry on the floor. He didn't even bother to get his pants, which had been ripped from him and carelessly thrown next to the door._

_"You're mine now, bitch."_

 

Marco woke with a scream trapped in the back of his throat. The sheets were wrapped tightly around him and there was only one pillow left on the bed. He grabbed at the pillow with a shaking hand and clutched it against his chest. When he tried to call out for Erwin or Levi, his voice cracked and nothing but a whisper came out. Detanglimg from the sheets, he placed one foot and then another on the floor and stood from the bed with great effort. He fell with a thud and the scream that had been trapped inside him finally came out. Within instants, Erwin was in his doorway, flicking the light on and Levi trailed lazily behind him. They had become accustomed to Marco lashing out at night. There had even been times in the first few weeks he had been staying with them that Marco had crawled into their bed, forcing either Levi or Erwin out into the spare room.

"Marco..." Erwin knelt down beside Marco, who was curled into a ball on the floor, shaking and still holding the pillow closely to his chest. He laid a hand gently on Marco's back and he yanked away.

"Don't touch me!" He screeched. He threw the pillow he had previously been holding so fast to at Erwin with an incredible force. Erwin managed to dodge it and it hit Levi so hard he stumbled out of the doorway. Erwin put his hands up in a sign of surrender. The air hung thick in the room, the dead space pulled taught like a rope.

"Marco, it's me." Erwin scooted closer to Marco.

Kicking his legs out in front of him wildly, Marco screamed, "Get away from me!" Erwin saw in his eyes that it wasn't really Marco speaking. His eyes were still had a sleepy sort of glaze over them despite being wide open. Marco's chest heaved up and down and his breathing wasn't really breathing-it was more gasping and noise.

Leaning back on his heels, Erwin sighed. "See, look. I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe now. Levi and I just wanted to make sure you were alright." Erwin stood from where he was and started to leave the spare bedroom when Marco seemed to come around.

"Wait..." he said, hand reaching out and grabbing at Erwin's leg. "Wait, please don't leave..." Marco's arm dropped down into the ground and he curled in on himself again, falling to the floor on his side. "Please don't leave me... Erwin, please." He began to cry quietly and he muttered to himself, "fuckin' cry baby... cryin' an' shit... cryin' just makes it worse for you" over and over. Erwin slowly approached Marco and sat down on the ground next to him, slowly rubbing his hand on his back.

"I didn't want to... he made me Erwin, he made me. He-he-he-" Marco sobbed into his words.

"Marco, it's ok. He's not here, he won't hurt you." Erwin said gently. There was a silence that held all three of them for a moment. "Do you want to go into the living room and get something to eat? Watch tv?" Erwin looked at the small clock on the bedside table and glanced at Levi. 2:47 am. "We could go watch reruns if you want." Marco nodded his head slightly. Erwin put his hand on Marco's shoulder. "Can you stand on your own?" Marco nodded and mumbled into the cream shag carpet. "Do you want help?" Marco shook his head no and put his arms underneath himself and tried to push up. When he fell into a shaking heap on the ground, Erwin picked him up and held him gently, carrying him out to the couch. Levi went into the kitchen and grabbed some freezer-burned ice cream and sat on the couch in a mass of blankets with Erwin and Marco.

* * *

 

Marco sat in the chair that was behind Levi's desk as he lectured. He hadn't wanted to go with Erwin and Levi didn't want him staying at home alone, so Marco had grudgingly obliged to going with Levi on the terms that he would sit through the lecture. There were maybe 30 students in the class-it was a higher level psychology class according to Levi- and all of them were avidly taking notes, highlighting things and typing things into their computer. While Levi had wanted Marco to listen to the lecture, it being about things like the effects of stress induced anxiety, but Marco protested with colorful language, arguing that he was so close to finishing something he was working on. He was diligently working on the 7/8 section of the piece he was writing, thoroughly dissatisfied with almost everything he had come up with so far. It either didn't go with the rest of the piece or it felt awkward and clunky. His paper was covered in eraser marks and eraser shavings covered Levi's desk.

"If you look at the diagram on the board, you can clearly see the difference between the brain of a person with anxiety and the brain of a person without anxiety." Levi leaned against the podium he was standing at. "Don't let anyone tell you that any kind of mental issue is just in your head. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it's not real."

"Professor?" A boy in the back row with blonde hair raised his hand. Levi nodded at him s to say that he could speak. "Why don't doctors offer patients who have the possibility of having a mental illness an MRI or an equivalent? Wouldn't that be more logical than prescribing them a medicine that could just make something worse?"

"It's a solid question, Arlert, and many have advocated that with a psych evaluation, an MRI should come with. Because MRIs scan for abnormalities in the brain, it only seems natural that people who may have mental illnesses would get one. Regrettably, because it's not ascertained that the abnormalities are physical but rather they are functional, MRIs have yet to become a reliable source of detection for mental illnesses." Levi pulled a large stack of papers out from a place behind he podium. "So, by the end of this week-what is that, the 27th?-"

"The 28th, sir," the same blonde haired boy called out.

"Thank you. So by the 28th, I want the packet filled and with 15 or more sources and anywhere from 2,000-10,000 words, a paper talking about general anxiety, stress induced anxiety, the effects of it, and any anxiety related illnesses. I'm looking for at least two everybody. Get that? One, two illnesses." Levi turned to Marco and handed him the stack of packets. "Can you hand these out, Marco?" Marco didn't look up from his paper, too busy playing through the 7/8 section in his head and tapping his fingers furiously on the table. Every eye in the classroom-all 30 something pairs-was on Marco, but he continued to mull over what he had written so far. Levi waited for a moment before calling his name again. This time, Marco jolted upright.

"Yes?" Marco's face darkened as he realized everyone was staring at him.

"Marco, will you pass one out to everyone please?" Levi handed Marco the stack of papers and smiled gently at him. As he handed out papers, Levi addressed the class.

"Remember, that this afternoon, so long as Marco is still alright with it," Marco nodded his head as Levi continued to talk, "Any and all of you are welcome to sit in on his psych evaluation. It'll be at the office directly down the street from here."

It had taken a while for Marco to ease into letting people sit in on his evaluation, he had at first steadily refused, but after meeting some of the kids who seemed interested and getting to know them and Levi explaining it was for educational purposes, he became accustomed to the idea. The guidelines he had agreed to had meant that the students could watch from outside the room on a monitor so that there was some level of privacy between Marco and the doctor who would be administering it as he was tested.

"Class dismissed. I hope to see some of you later this afternoon," Levi said as he walked to his desk. He began putting his things into his briefcase and a student approached his desk. Levi didn't have to look up form his things to know who it was.

"Let me guess, Kirstein, you won't be here on the 28th because of some bullshitty excuse." Levi zipped up his briefcase and finally looked at the boy. "I would expect better ethic from you considering the potential you have, but I suppose not. It is your life."

"Actually, professor, I wanted to tell you that I was going to be at Marco's evaluation," He said, glancing to Marco. Marco shifted in his place a bit when Jean looked at him. The boy had two toned hair and piercing all up his ears and in his nose, but somehow when he said that he would be at Marco's evaluation, he seemed gentle. Marco managed a smile as he gathered his multiple pieces of staff paper.

Levi looked up from his things. "Well, that's good to hear. Aren't you happy Kirstein is coming, Marco?" There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he addressed Marco.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Thanks for taking the time to come, Jean." He beamed.

Jean shrugged. "No problem, Freckles."


	4. Je T'aime

"So, Marco, is it?"

"Yes."

"How was school for you?"

"Fine."

"Grades were good?"

"Yessir."

"Kept up with work?"

"Yessir." The man scribbled something down on the clipboard he had balanced in his lap and continued to ask Marco questions.

"How was your social life? Did you have many mutual friends or a small group of close friends?"

"I only really had one good friend, everyone else at school kind of hated me for bein' so smart, ya see?" Marco shrugged. "I didn't really care. One good friend is all you need, right?" The doctor wrote something else down and nodded.

"Indeed." The man set down his pen and looked keenly at Marco. "How was your home life?"

Marco shrugged, trying not to show that he had tensed. "It was... rough." Marco looked around the room, trying to avoid the man's eyes. The office was nice, but boring. The walls were a pasty light yellow color and there was a large bookshelf against the wall opposite Marco. Degrees, Marco assumed from the colleges this man had gone to, are hung in meticulous rows above the man's desk.

"How so?" Marco took in a shaky breath.

"Well... My parents, they, well, weren't the best. My mom tried I guess, but whatever pent up rage she had towards my father got directed at me. From her it was just words though. She hit me a couple times, but... My dad... He-" Marco's voice stopped short. "Mon père..." he muttered under his breath.

"You're father what?" the man asked, leaning a bit closer to Marco as he wrote something down.

"He would hit me." Marco paused. "And punch me. And kick me." His words were choppy. He let out a strained laugh, trying to seem unaffected by it. "There was one time he was cookin' and he had one of those rack things that go on grills, but he was using it on the stove to cook somethin'. I guess I was in his way or somethin' because he took it and hit it onto my back and let it fall onto my chest when I fell down. At first it really hurt but it stopped after a bit. My mom was out of the house and my dad didn't do anythin' so I just went and stood in a shower for a good thirty minutes to try and get it to feel better." Marco ran his hand subconsciously over his chest, the scars from the rack running under his fingers.

"So your father, he was more of a physical man?" The doctor asked as he continued to write things down. Marco was put off by how much the man was writing down, but he tried not to pay it any mind.

"Yeah." Marco crossed his legs and leaned forward on his knees.

"Did he do more that just hitting you?" Marco took in a shaky breath.

"He would use me to put out his cigarettes sometimes." He looked up at the doctor and pointed to the scar that ran from the corner of his eye down to his chin. "He gave me that when he was shaving. He was an old fashioned man and liked to do things the classic way, so I was curious as to what he was doing. He told me to come closer and when I did, he slashed the blade across my face." Marco shrugged. "I don't really care though. I returned the favor."

"And how did you return that favor, Marco?"

A smug grin came across Marco's face. "J'ai le tué." He chuckled. "I killed him." Marco began to laugh in a hysterical sort of way. "And you know what's funny? He fought back! Until his last, pathetic breath left his disgusting, grotesque body, he continued to beat up on me, punching and kicking at me, threatening to strangle me if he ever got the chance."

"What about your mother? What was she doing while this happened?" The doctor asked, trying frantically to write down everything that Marco was saying.

"Oh, it was a shame. But she kind of just accepted it. I only felt remorse for a second, and it was when I realized she was really gone. I could've cared less what I did to my father. He had hurt me so much-" His voice broke. He fell silent and dug his finger nails into the palms of his hands, almost hard enough to draw blood.

"Did he ever do more to you than physically abuse you?" The doctor asked.

"He did." Marco snapped.

"Did he-"

"Yes." Marco cut his off before he had the chance to ask the question Marco hated to hear. The doctor jotted something down and continued to press Marco.

"I didn't ask my question before you answered. Did he ever-"

Marco cut him off with a biting tone. "Yes. Just about anything you ask I will inevitably say yes to. My father did a lot to me." His voice became strained. "About the only thing he didn't do to me was kill me." The doctor closed the Manila folder he had with a large enough stack of paper to be incriminating inside it and handed Marco a booklet. The booklet was a good five or six pages long, and Marco was already hating it. It read Psychological Evaluation-Ages 18-30 on the top.

"Answer all the questions as truthfully as you can." He handed Marco a pen.

"Come out to the desk you checked in at and hand it in when you're done."

The doctor closed the door behind him with a small noise, leaving Marco with himself and his thoughts. Some of the questions were normal and covert, asking true or false questions like 'I have smoked' and 'I have consumed alcohol'. That went on for the first 30 questions and things began to get a bit more specific. Marco flipped to the back and saw that there were a total of 150 questions. He groaned to himself and began to read over the questions. The rest of them were questions that were to be answered Never, Occasionally Often, or Always.

31\. I feel isolated and alone.

Marco filled in the choice _Always_.

32\. I feel as though I am being watched.

Marco filled in _Always_ again.

42\. I don't remember what I do for certain periods of time.

With a moments hesitation, Marco filled in the option _Often_.

He set down his pen for a moment and glanced at the clock above the door. He had been filling out the booklet for ten minutes and still had over a hundred questions left. He read over the next few questions and picked up the pen and continued to answer.

49\. I engage in self destructive habits.

 _Always_.

50\. I have instances where I feel as though I'm watching myself do things instead of experiencing them.

 _Often_.

53\. I have apparent highs and lows throughout a month.

 _Always_.

56\. I am sad and unmotivated.

 _Often_.

64\. I worry about both big and little things.

 _Always_.

68\. I do not view myself positively.

 _Often_.

71\. I skip meals at a time.

 _Sometimes_.

77\. I miss my family when I am away from them.

 _Never_.

83\. I get distracted easily.

 _Sometimes_.

99\. I think of death.

 _Often_.

111\. My emotions are unstable and change quickly.

 _Always_.

125\. I feel like I can't get close to people.

 _Often_.

133\. I don't like to slow down, but to keep going.

 _Sometimes_.

138\. I enjoy speaking loudly and quickly.

 _Never_.

142\. I solve my own problems.

 _Often_.

147\. Little things get me upset.

 _Always_.

148\. I cannot tell the difference between right and wrong.

 _Often_.

149\. I do things on a whim.

 _Often_.

150\. If I wanted to, I would do something illegal or generally frowned upon.

Marco held his pen between the choices Often and Always for a good few minutes. He didn't know if it was something he constantly thought about or if it was something that would spontaneously come to mind.

 _Always_.

* * *

Marco and Erwin sat on the couch together watching cooking shows-no surprise-when Levi got home from the store, more bags than one person should've been able to care in hand. Setting them down roughly on the counter, Erwin turned around to see Levi struggling to get all the bags off his arms. He met Levi in the kitchen, to see that at least one of the bags was filled with prescriptions. Erwin glanced to Marco, who was still enraptured with the cooking shows and then to Levi.

"When do you want to tell him?" Erwin asked as he began to remove things from the plastic bags. Instead of throwing the bags away, he put them aside, only to later stuff them all into one larger plastic bag where he kept all the others.

"What, that he's got a shit ton of medicine to take every morning or that he's going to be moving into an apartment?"Levi put a jug of milk in the fridge as he spoke. From the small living room, Marco switched off the tv and walked over into the kitchen with Levi and Erwin. He helped them out away things and he jumped into their conversation.

"I figured I would need to take a lot of meds, but what is this about me moving out to be in an apartment? You guys sick of me?" Marco flashed them a charismatic smile to hide the small twinge of guilt and pain he felt inside.

Levi sucked in a breath. "You'll be moving into an apartment next week. Kirstein is your roommate." Marco almost dropped the carton of eggs he was holding. "I know, it's a surprise, but it'll be better for you in the long run. You'll have someone your age, you won't have to come with us to lectures all the time and you'll be even closer to school than you are with us."

"School?" Marco questioned. "What do you mean school?"

"Marco, you're attending Curtis Music Institute. You'll be studying under Erwin and working on music composition there," Levi said. "We just figured it would be better for you not to have us harping on you all the time." Marco's shoulders slumped a bit and he just looked down at his hands, which held the carton of eggs he hadn't put away. Levi and Erwin continued to put groceries away, trying to be as nonchalant as possible about the fact that within a week Marco wouldn't be staying with them anymore.

"Oh." Marco set down the carton of eggs. "When did you make this decision?"

"We made it with the doctor, Marco. He said that given your situation, it would be best for you to have as much interaction with people your age as possible. I understand what he meant," Erwin said, leaning against the counter. He smiled at Marco. "I know it's hard, Marco, but we're just a phone call or a text away. You're stuck with me until you graduate." Marco stifled a laugh, unsure of exactly how they had expected him to respond. "We were planning on helping you move out there this weekend so you can get adjusted before you start school. We can show you the Metro route you need to take to get to the institute and we'll even get you a Metro pass that you can use all year. Marco, trust us, we wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't in your best interest."

"I understand." Marco shrugged. "I guess I just don't get why you made the decision without me."

"We did want to talk to you about it but we just figured it would be easier to just tell you. You may have resisted if you had a day and we just want the best for you Marco." Levi set a hand on Marco's arm. Part of Marco was taken aback; Levi was always so closed off and reserved, he had never been known to think about someone's best interest. His grey eyes which were usually stone cold were gentle when Marco met his gaze. "We only want what's best for you."

Marco reached his hands up to rub his eyes and found them damp with tears. He smiled down at the counter and spoke to himself in a hushed tone. "Tu es les parents que je ne jamais. Merci, merci beaucoup. Vous avez tous mes remerciements." When a hand was laid gently on his back he turned around and hugged whoever's hand it was-Levi's-tightly, saying the phrase over and over again, subconsciously alternating between French and English. "You're the parents I never had, thank you, thank you very much. You have all my thanks."

"Bienvenue, Marco. Nous étions plus heureux de vous aider." Levi replied with an impeccable accent. Marco pulled away from him and looked the shorter man over, tears stuck in his eyes. He melted into a smile and threw his arms around him, almost pushing Levi to the ground. "My father was French, so I grew up speaking it."

"Thank you," Marco said through tears. "For everything." Levi and Marco stood in the kitchen for a long while, just hugging and exchanging French statements between themselves. For the first time since his release, Marco was truly happy.


	5. Not My Thing

There was an air to Philadelphia that no other city Marco knew of had. He remembered Paris as being sophisticated when he visited with his mother when he was ten. His father hadn't gone with them so it was a relatively good trip. Philadelphia was crowded. There seemed to be too many people in one area, too many cars on every street, too many homeless sitting against the buildings, too many business men, too many subways-it felt too foreign to Marco. He leaned back against the car seat and let out a deep breath.

"How long until we get there, Erwin?" Marco asked.

"Almost there Marco. It's just a block down the street." Erwin instinctively reached for the radio and switched it to 90.1, the classical station.

"Thank you." Marco closed his eyes and let the calming music of a Mozart piano Sonata fill him to the brim. The smooth melody floated gently over top of quiet yet grounded bass notes. There was something about Mozart that put him at ease more than Bach, or Beethoven, or Debussy, or Tchaikovsky. He couldn't put his finger on it, and it could've been how he played a countless number of Mozart pieces when he was little, but nothing seemed to answer why he was so at ease when he listened to Mozart.

In his mind as the Sonata played, he could see trees whirring past, the sun shining out from behind clouds and the tall, soft grass blowing gently in an autumn wind that foreshadowed an oncoming storm. Through the open windows of the old, beat up red truck he was riding passenger in, he could smell the sun and the grass, the faint scent of nicotine from the cigarette he was smoking as it drifted from the window and the rain to come. He had his hand dangling carelessly out the window, his fingers chilled by the late afternoon breeze. There was a faint song playing in the background-maybe it was the sonata, maybe something else-but whatever it was it was incredibly calming. The truck was driving out towards nowhere in particular, through fields of wheat and on roads of baring trees, leaves clinging to the branches desperately. When he looked to his left to the driver of the truck, the face was unclear, but he could feel in himself that it was someone important to him.

"Marco, we're here," Levi said (for the third time), holding the car door open for Marco. Marco looked up, wishing to see the person from his fantasy, but it was plain old Levi. His eyes were cold and stern. Marco heaved a sigh, grabbed his back pack and got out of the car.

"This is where you're going to spend the majority of your college-outside of school campus." Erwin said, pulling the small blue suitcase Marco's things had been packed in out of the trunk. Marco held his breath apprehensively, unable to comprehend exactly the gravity of the situation. There he was, standing ten feet away from the door to the staircase that lead to what would be his home for the rest of his college career. Inside was a boy he knew as a student in his guardian's Psychology class, a boy who was just above a stranger, a boy he found endearing, a boy he was afraid would make him want to stay...

Levi looked to Marco, who lagged by the car door even though he and Erwin were already up the stairs to the front door of the apartment building. There was something about Marco that had changed-he didn't know how but there was something there; maybe it was the way he stood, or how he had his backpack slung over his shoulder, or the look in his eyes. There was something. "Marco." Marco looked ahead at Levi and Erwin and pressed his lips together into a fake smile. "Don't be nervous. Jean is perfectly capable of keeping you company."

"It's not the company I have apprehensions about," Marco said as he climbed the stairs into the apartment building.

It was a silent trip up the two flights of stairs and down the hall to get to apartment number 306B. Marco kept his eyes held to the ground. He worked through his head scenarios that could play out between him and Jean.

_He sat at the piano bench playing through a piece he had recently finished the first draft of. Jean was at class and would be home sooner or later-hopefully sooner. Quarter notes, eighth notes, dotted quarter rests, tritones, perfect fifths, major sevenths... Marco paused when he reached a second half-diminished chord with an added fourth. He played slowly through the section preceding the chord and paused when he landed on the chord._

_"It should be a fully diminished chord," He muttered to himself. As he erased the chord from the manuscript to rewrite it, arms draped over his shoulders._

_"It sounds beautiful regardless of the chord quality, Marco." Jean. There was something about the way he said everything that made Marco feel safe. He turned his body towards Jean and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Before Marco could turn around to face the piano again, Jean pulled his face farther towards his own and kissed him gently. He tasted like cinnamon (from the coffee he had earlier that day)._

_"I love you," Marco said quietly as he pulled away._

_"I love you too."_

Marco pulled himself reluctantly out of his fantasy and knocked on the door of apartment 306B. There was a muffled thud and footsteps before he heard someone say 'one minute'. There came a laugh, a girl's voice calling from somewhere farther in the apartment, and a rather loud 'shhhh' as Jean-Marco only assumed-approached the door. A part of him broke when he heard the girl's voice. He had hoped there was a chance that he would like him, but knowing there was a girl that was in the apartment with him probably meant that that chance was gone.

The door swung open abruptly to reveal Jean, tattooed and pierced like always, but less composed, almost drunk (in all honestly he was probably hungover). He didn't have on a shirt, and he wore sweatpants that hung down low enough for Marco to see a happy trail and the muscles of his stomach that led down below the seam of the pants. Marco smiled shyly.

"Oh, shit, hey Freckles." Heat rose into Marco's cheeks. Jean ran his hand through his hair.

"Good to know you're working hard on the essay I assigned last week Kirstein," Levi said smugly, a slight smile creeping onto his face.

"Sorry Mr. Ackerman. I'm about halfway done but other things came up." Jean's eyes darted back into the apartment for a split second. "Come on in Marco. It's a bit messy, but your room is just across the hall from the bathroom." Jean stepped aside to let Marco in. Marco looked over his shoulder expectantly, but Levi and Erwin stood a good distance from the door and had left his suitcase of things with the handle up at his side. Erwin smiled at him.

"This is where we part Marco," he laughed a bit. "That is, until you're in my class next week." Marco managed to laugh, and looked to Levi.

"Don't do anything stupid, shit head." Levi actually smiled-a genuine one from him was rare-and walked up to Marco, encasing him in a hug. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call."

"Merci," Marco said as he let go of Levi. "I can't thank you enough for all you guys have done for me. It means the world."

"Don't mention it. We only want the best for you." Marco smiled and rolled his eyes.

"You guys sound like proud parents."

"Rightfully so." Levi turned quickly on his heel, Erwin trailing closely after. Marco turned back towards Jean, who had already made his way back into the apartment.

"Come on in," Jean called over his shoulder. He disappeared into the kitchen and started to brew a pot of coffee, scooping coffee ground into the coffee maker and pouring water into the filter. "Want some?"

Marco was caught up looking around the apartment. He had let his backpack fall of his shoulder by the front door as he closed the door and scanned the living room. An average sized TV sat on top of its box and there was a a bra, a pair of skinny jeans and a tank top strewn across the small coffee table in front of an olive green couch. Marco's eyes were glued to the clothes on the coffee table. "Hm?"

"Do you want some coffee?" Jean held his finger to the "Brew" button, awaiting Marco's response.

Shrugging, Marco replied. "Sure." As the coffee began to brew, Jean pulled a few mugs out of one of the kitchen cabinets. "Um... Where should I put my stuff?"

"Oh, your room's across the hall from the bathroom." Jean said, walking down the hall to lead Marco to his room. As Marco opened the door to his room, a girl emerged from the bathroom wearing a green and black flannel much to large for her. She had light brown hair and eyes to match. Porcelain skin and lightly pink cheeks, she was very stunning, and definitely tall for sure. Marco was 6 feet tall, Jean just barely shorter than him, and the girl was only a few inches shorter than Jean. She had to be 5'7" or even 5'8".

"Jean who is this?" The girl asked. Her eyes skimmed over Marco's figure. Her eyes landed on his arms, which were a jigsaw of white scar tissue and dark red scabs. Her face shifted from questioning to sympathetic for a brief moment before she looked back to Jean.

"Oh, um, Anka, this is Marco. He's like my roommate. Marco, this is Anka.".

"Hey," Marco said quietly, hoping she wouldn't make the connection.

"Marco what? What's your last name?" Anka inquired. Her eyes were wide and curious as she held her gaze with Marco's.

"Bodt."

"Marco Bodt?" Anka gravitated towards Jean and latched onto him. She backed away from Marco, and Marco himself curled into the bedroom door. "The one that-"

"Yes, Anka. I'm the one. I'm the one with the headline 'Remorseless Teenager Brutally Stabs Parents Over 200 Times'. That's me, 'The Boy Murderer'." Marco said with a bit of guilt and a bit of anger. "I was wondering how long it'd be before someone asked or brought it up."

Anka hesitated. "Why'd you do it?"

Marco muttered under his breath, "Parce qu'il m'a violé."

"What?"

"He raped me. He physically, sexually and emotionally abused me. So did my mother, so there." Marco's tone bit through Anka's curiosity. Her eyes softened at his statement, and she reached out and touched Marco's shoulder.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly. "For what happened to you." Her hand dropped from his shoulder.

"It's fine."

From the room down the hall, a phone rang, breaking the awkwardness of the situation. Anka ran down to the room and closed the door behind her. Marco immediately turned to Jean.

"She seems nice," he scoffed.

Jean immediately began to defend himself. "Listen, Marco, she just spent the night. I told her I had a roommate moving in today but I didn't tell her who it was. Sorry, ok?" The twinge in the muscles of Jean's upper arms and neck captivated Marco, and he hesitated to answer.

"Oh, yeah it's fine, considering that she's brought up a rather controversial topic within the first five minutes of me knowing her." He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame of his bedroom. He could see Jean trying not to offend him or to yell, but he would fail eventually.

"I don't understand why you're so bitchy about it. She's only curious." He replied

Marco sucked in a breath, trying not to yell. "Curious hurts when you've got a record, dick head." He went into his new room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Jean in the hallway, waiting for Anka.

Jean was stunned, unable to believe that Marco would react so violently to Anka. It took a moment for Jean to process his thoughts and to respond to Marco. "Fine then, go be a fucking recluse. You crazy shit heads don't know how to be normal people anyways!" Jean yelled through the door.

Marco bit his tongue. _Crazy shit. Slut. Idiot. Bitch. Property. Cock-sucker. Suicidal. Insane._ Marco's head swirled with names that he had been called. His mind was full of them and they were beating him senseless. He clutched his head, hair pulled tight between his fingers. It was his last resort, but it was all he could think of. Without hesitation, Marco slumped to the ground in front of the pure white bedroom door and began to bang his head on the door. The horrible habit of his had nearly been his end; he had been stopped many times just in the nick of time. Each thud was louder than the previous.

"Marco?" Jean asked, at first to himself, and then again, to Marco. "Marco are you ok?" _thud._ "Marco, what's going on? Are you alright?" _thud. thud._

Anka came out of the bedroom down the hall, still on the phone but quieting the person on the other end of the call. "Hold on, Hannah," _thud._ She took the phone away from her ear. _Thud._ "Jean, what's-" _THUD._ "-wrong? What's that sound?" Anka's words were magic. The thudding stopped.

Marco called out from inside the room, his voice shaking. "Hey Jean?"

Jean crouched down to the point at the door Marco's voice came from. "Yeah?"

"Do you have some Advil or Tylenol?" Marco raised his hand up to his forehead to feel for scrapes or cuts. Only a small bit of blood came away, but he was certain more was to come. "And some peroxide and a bandaid?"

"Yeah, yeah." Jean turned to Anka. "Go get the stuff out of the bathroom cupboard." Anka came back soon with bandaids, disinfectant, peroxide and a few towels. "Do you want some water? Something to eat?"

Marco laughed. "Yeah, actually. I'd like that cup of coffee from before." Jean stood from where he was an put his hand gently on the door handle. "I'm going to open the door ok? Can you come out into the living room and sit on the couch so I can help?"

"Yeah." Jean opened the door to see Marco sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the ground, head in his hands. Marco raised his head and smiled nervously at Jean, who wore a concerned look. The way his eyebrows were knit together in worry made Marco's heart skip a beat; his eyes were tracing Marco's figure quickly, Marco's heart was beating. Jean put out a hand to help Marco stand, and Marco took it, almost too quickly.

"Thank you," Marco said under his breath. His eyes met Jean's amber ones and his heart melted for a moment. He found himself getting lost in them until Jean guided him towards the couch in the living room.

"Are you ok?" Jean asked, sitting Marco down on the couch carefully. Marco's eyes were locked on Jean's chest and arms, the muscles contracting as he helped Marco to sit.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Marco stifled a laugh. "Bad habit I guess."

"Holy shit that's a lot of blood." Anka paled when she saw the steady stream of blood that came from Marco's forehead.

"It's really not. It just looks like it because of where it is. There aren't a lot of veins in your face-it's mainly capillaries. There's more pressure in capillaries because there's less space for the same amount of blood." Marco stated matter-of-factly. Anka just nodded in response, handing Jean a towel with peroxide on it. Jean brushed Marco's hair out of the way-he startled at his touch-and began to wipe the scrape clean. Marco sucked in his breath as the peroxide foamed up and began to clean his cut.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

"Anka, could you grab me the other towel?" Anka immediately placed it into his hand and backed away from Marco and Jean. Jean patted the cut dry and then carefully and quickly got a bandaid onto Marco's forehead. Jean looked over Marco once more and stood from the couch. He headed over into the kitchen, Marco close behind him, to pour out coffee for Marco, Anka and himself. He pulled a bottle of creamer out of the fridge and held it out to Marco. "Creamer?"

Marco shook his head. "Sure, just a bit though."

Anka came rushing into the living room, grabbing her clothes from the coffee table. "I'm sorry, Jean." Jean turned to face her as she pulled off his flannel and tossed it onto the couch. She stood in the living room, half naked, and Jean stared at her wide eyed. Marco did too. She was a beautifully lean girl with not a blemish to her body. Her belly button was pierced with a golden charm, and not just her belly button, but her nipples as well. Marco looked at Jean and back to Anka, who had put on her bra and was hopping into her skinny jeans, fumbling over the holes in the shins. "I've gotta go. Hannah. Promise to call, ok?" She tugged on her tank top and grabbed her purse from the back of the couch as she ran out the door. It barely managed to close behind her as she left.

"Sorry I scared off your girlfriend." Marco said, sipping on the coffee as he leaned over the countertop.

"Girlfriend? Hell no."

"What do you mean? It's not like you just had sex with her and let her go like that." Marco was appalled. "I mean, you did have sex with her, right? Her clothes were all over your table."

"Yes, yes, god, Marco I had sex with her. It was a one night stand." Jean set down his mug. "She asked if she could come over to get help withy the Psychology assignment, got me drunk, and decided she wanted to get fucked, so, there's that." He took a sip of his coffee and looked to Marco. "She's nice, but-"

"Not your thing?" Marco cut him off, his heart racing apprehensively. His hopes were as high as they had been in years.

"Not my thing."


	6. Reading Terminal

“Hey, uh, Jean?" Marco leaned his head back from where he sat on the couch. His sheet music began to slide from his legs but he didn't really pay any mind to it.

"Hm?" He didn't look at Marco.

"Does, does that happen often?" Jean looked up from his computer.

“What?"

"You know, with Anka?" Marco let a small smile creep into the corners of his mouth. He could imagine it would be... _fun_ with Anka, to say the least. It had been just over a month that he’d been living with Jean and Anka had been over two-almost three-more times. Jean laughed a bit to himself.

"No," he smiled. "No. Anka, Anka doesn't usually happen. To be honest, she's into some _weird_ stuff. Like, holy shit if I'd been sober I wouldn't have been able to get past it." Jean started laughing. Marco managed a slight laugh, but he realized he wouldn't know what was fun or weird to anyone else, let alone himself. Part of him wanted to know, but at the same time, Brian...

"Marco." Jean walked over to the couch and set a hand on Marco's shoulder. His eyes were slightly glazed over, and his lips moved in a trance like state, moving in near silence except for the breathy words he muttered, saying something over and over, something Jean couldn't understand, and didn't know if he ever would, regardless of whether Marco told him.

"Marco, are you alright?" He stayed frozen, unblinking, unmoving. Jean tried squeezing his shoulder. He tried putting the sheet music back on Marco's lap. He tried to squeeze his hand. He tried rubbing his thumb on Marco's cheek. Nothing seemed to pull him from what he was experiencing. Maybe it was just how he worked through things in his mind. Everyone had their own way of doing things. Jean hadn't known Marco long enough to know those sorts of things about him. It sounded like whatever he was saying was in another language, though it could've just as well been gibberish.

"Désolé," Marco said, his voice no more than a whisper. He cleared his throat, saying, louder this time, "Sorry." He sat up and put his hand over the sheet music that lay across his lap. "I was just... thinking." Marco said, for lack of a better word. Thinking definitely wasn’t the right word for it, but it was all he could say so as not to worry Jean. Though they’d only known each other for a few months, Marco could tell Jean cared. There was something in the way Jean spoke to him that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“It didn’t seem like you were really thinking, Marco. Are you sure you’re alright?” There it was, that lilt in his voice that made Marco’s heart soar. Marco pressed his lips together in a sort of fake smile and nodded. “Alright then, you big nerd.” Jean walked back into the kitchen and looked at his laptop. The assignment Professor Ackerman had given them over two weeks ago that was due technically three days ago. For some reason, Professor Ackerman let him do things at his own pace. Maybe he saw something in him that Jean couldn’t see himself. Maybe it’s because Marco was now living with him, who tended to take up a lot of his time. Not that he minded, but sometimes it kept Jean from doing his work.

“Hey, Jean, can you listen to this for me and tell me what you think?” Marco unplugged the headphones out of his laptop. Jean pulled his attention away from his work and padded over into what _could_ have been called a living room. He plopped down on the couch next to Marco and slung his arm over his shoulder. With a quick glance at Marco, he noticed that he had freckles literally all over his body. There were freckles that peaked out of the collar of his sweater, and Jean couldn't help but wonder the extent the freckles went to.

Marco pressed the space bar on his computer and let the 7/8 section of the piece he was working on play out loud. Marco watched the screen and followed the notes along with the sounds, analyzing the different intervals and structures in his mind as it played; Jean watched Marco with great attention, watching the way his eyes traced the screen of his computer, the way his hands played along with the music, how his breathing would stop for a moment when he had to think about something. Marco had only been living with Jean for a little over a month and Jean found himself noticing more of the little things about Marco. He couldn’t say it was love, because it wasn’t. Appreciation. That’s what it was.

“So, what did you think?” Marco looked at Jean. Jean had to tear his eyes away from Marco’s hands-those piano hands that Jean could only imagine about.

“It sounds really good. I guess I’m not the best person to ask, I don’t really have a lot of musical intuition.” Jean shrugged. He turned his eyes from Marco.

“Jean, you can’t say that. You play guitar, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, I just-”

“I guess all I’m asking is if it makes musical sense.” Marco looked at Jean with a kind of expectation that made Jean flush. He nodded to himself at first before directing it at Marco.

“Yeah, it makes sense.” Jean squeezed Marco’s shoulder, making him jump a bit. Jean was worried until Marco smiled at him, ensuring that Jean hadn’t done anything wrong.

Plugging his headphones back in, Marco immediately went back to writing, but not before asking Jean for a cup of coffee. Jean laughed.

“Do you want some breakfast to go with that too?”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

“Exactly.” Marco smiled a bit before melting into a laugh that consumed him. Marco saved the piece he was working on without a moments hesitation and closed the lid of his computer. Turning around, he caught Jean stopped in between the kitchen and living room looking at his phone. The shirt he was wearing was a hair too short, and his pants hung below his waist, resting comfortably on his hips, so Marco could see how Jean’s hipbones gently protruded from under his shirt and the waistband of his underwear. Marco’s breath hitched. “Jean.”

“Marco,” Jean said without looking up from his phone.

“We should go and get some lunch.”

“Lunch?” Marco rolled his eyes.

“You know, the meal that comes between breakfast and dinner. Usually you eat salad or a sandwich for it-”

Jean’s laugh cut him off, looking up at last. “I know what lunch is dummy. I was more asking why.”

“Because I’ve been in this apartment for the past four days without being outside. I would like it if I could go get a Philly cheese steak.” Marco stood from his place on the couch and stretched, reaching his arms up high above his head and arching his back just enough for it to crack. Jean smiled when he saw the freckles that lead down the waist of his sweat pants.

“Alright, fine. You win. It _is_ like 40 degrees outside so don’t complain about it being cold outside.” Jean smirked.

“That’s what coats are for, horseface.” Jean scrunched up his nose at the comment.

“I don’t have a horseface. You’ve been hanging out around Jaegar, haven’t you?” Jean tried to come level with Marco as he walked past, but he fell about 5 or so inches too short.

“Sure, if it makes you feel better.”

~~~

Jean hadn’t been lying when he said it was 40 degrees outside. It was really 38. There was a flurry scheduled to come into the area, and Marco couldn’t keep himself from talking about it. He hadn’t seen snow in three years, and it was all he could think about.

“-and it’ll be all white and pretty and the air will be cold and crisp with the autumn wind, and Jean can you believe it there’s gonna be snow coming through here Jean! Snow! Snow is coming Jean!” Marco used his hands as he spoke, unable to contain his excitement in mere words. Jean smiled to himself. Marco’s excitement made him feel like he was experiencing snow for the first time.

“Yes, Marco,” Jean laughed. “There will be snow, though I’m not quite sure I’m as excited as you are about it.”

Marco grabbed Jean’s hand, and swung it lightly as the walked. “Why not? Snow is exciting isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah, for the first few days. Then it gets all sloshy and brown and gross.”

Marco’s face dropped for just a moment before he peeked back up. “But it’ll still be pretty for the first few days, and that’s what matters!” Jean couldn’t help but smile at Marco’s naivety on certain subjects. It made him all the more enticing. It made Jean want to get to know him better. Know him _more_.

“So, there’s a pretty good place down in Reading Terminal, I always used to go down there after morning classes before going home, just to go shopping for a bit for fresh food.” Jean refused to let his mind wander back to _then_.

Marco sucked in his breath. “We could get stuff to make for dinner!” He turned his gaze to Jean and smiled. “Can we get stuff to make dinner?” Jean looked at Marco for a moment without answering. The 18 year old was more of an 8 year old, constantly optimistic and always ready to do something. His cheeks were a light pink from the wind whipping against his bare skin, but it was cute. Jean melted into a smile and nodded.

“Sure. I don’t see why not. I do have that paper to work on though, so I may not be of much use.”

“You can do it after dinner while I’m working on finishing up my piece. I want to make something together.” Marco said, squeezing Jean’s hand. Jean’s cheeks flushed, though Marco wouldn’t have noticed. Even if he did, it was windy, and Jean could’ve blamed any color that had risen to his face on the howling bursts of air that pushed through the sky.

“Ok, so, Reading Terminal it is.” Jean began to lead their walk down N 12th street to the entrance. He had been going to Reading Terminal since he was a kid with his mother, and he knew it like the back of his hand. Marco was letting him lead, relishing in the feeling of Jean just taking him wherever. Jean-to him-was an interesting character, someone he wished wasn’t so much of an enigma. He constantly wondered what he hid behind the swirling tattoos and piercings.

“Why did you stop going? To Reading Terminal, I mean.” Marco asked. Jean’s grip on his hand tightened a bit at the question, and with a single once over, Marco could tell he was uncomfortable. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. It’s ok, I get it.”

“No, no. It’s fine, you’re fine, it’s fine. It’s just, I haven’t, uh, I mean, I haven’t really, like-shit.” Jean’s cheeks flushed with heat and he had to stop walking for a moment to collect his thoughts. He dropped Marco’s hand. Marco stopped and put an hand on Jeans back. For the life of him, Jean couldn’t think of any reasonable excuse as to why he never came down to the terminal anymore. If he told Marco the real reason, he would certainly laugh at him, think him stupid, not look at him the same.

“I’m sorry, Jean, I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok. I just-it’s complicated.” Jean shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, to Marco’s disappointment. “It’s just that, like, I haven’t, I-fuck why am I so bad at this?”

“You’re not bad at this.” Marco reassured him, not even hoping to get an explanation from him, but just hoping he could comfort him.

“Long story short I haven’t come back since I came out to my mom.” Jean rushed through the sentence, hoping Marco wouldn’t fully understand what he said and just nod his head in sympathy like a lot of people would.

“Oh.” Marco resisted the urge to stick his hand into the pocket of Jean’s coat with the other boy’s hand and hold it. “I’m sorry, that’s too bad.” Jean startled at this a bit, as he has gone to very specific measures to say what he did as quickly and incomprehensibly as possible. Somehow, Marco still heard him, and his heart went out to the shorter boy.

Everything else Jean said came out as fast as before, if not faster. His breath was caught in his throat as he spoke and everything was strained, “I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t like I didn’t like girls, and that I wouldn’t ever think of dating one, I just never saw myself marrying a girl. Not even for the sake of not having kids, I actually really want kids. Girls are just-“

“Bitchy.” Marco finished. He knew Jean was struggling to say even the little bit he did, and he didn’t want Jean to be fussed for the rest of the day. Marco grabbed Jean’s elbow and tugged on his sleeve a bit. Jean stopped. “I’m sorry.” Marco pulled Jean into a hug, something neither of them believed was happening. Marco had been taken over with a sudden urge of compassion that had thrown him on to Jean. Jean instinctively wrapped his arms around Marco, relishing in the warmth the boy put off in the cold.

“Thank you.” Jean muttered into the name of Marco’s neck. With a final squeeze, the two let go of each other. Jean pressed his lips together in a thin smile. He stood quickly on his tiptoes and gave Marco a quick peck on the cheek, much to his surprise. He flushed a brilliant red that stood out against his tan skin.

“You’re welcome.” Marco’s hand brushed his cheek before he reached to grab Jean’s hand.

“It’s just another block or so.” Jean said. The smile that was plastered across his face spread from ear to ear for the first time in forever.


End file.
